That Smirk
by Phailen
Summary: Harry has a problem. Hermione tries to help. Daphne ends up being brought along for the ride. Tracey finds the entire thing hilarious. Ron is... less amused. A short one-shot, tentatively turned into a story, about a little Gyrffindor/Slytherin romance.
1. Chapter 1

_Harry Potter – December 13_ _th_ _, 1994 – Hogwarts Library_

Harry, as it just so happened, was in Gryffindor.

The house of the brave and the bold – though he was neither at the moment. The house of heroes and champions. The house that took the lion as its sigil and its home in one of Hogwarts Castle's many high-reaching towers.

He was proud to be a Gryffindor.

Most of the time.

Earlier this year – his fourth at Hogwarts – there were plenty of times he resented his house. Second year, too, was filled with bitter memories of how his fellow lions turned on one of their own.

And now, Harry Potter found another moment he wished he was anything but a Gryffindor to add to that of second and fourth years.

Specifically, this moment.

He was in Hogwarts' library at present – the library playing absolutely no part in his resentment of his house and its colors, of course… Hermione would have his head if he spoke ill of her favorite spot in the castle. But, back on point: books floated to and fro around his head in a sort of organized chaos that only time and familiarity allowed him to ignore. Shelves upon shelves of tomes and novels and paperbacks stretched deep into the cavernous room, until naught but shadows and darkened corners could be seen at their ends. There was a hush over the place that Madam Pince maintained with a merciless hand and, even now, he could only just hear the faint mutters of his classmates and the foreign students.

Harry frowned.

The foreign students – those of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang – brought him back to the Triwizard Tournament. Which brought his thoughts back to the _ball_ that was to be held over Christmas holiday. Which, in turn, brought him to the realization that he had no date for that _ball_ at present.

Which, eventually, brought him back to his current predicament and the reason for his lack of courage and boldness and a spine in general.

Asking the object of his affections to the dreaded _ball._

And, in a now familiar cycle, his thoughts once more returned to just why he resented being a Gryffindor at present.

The girl was a Slytherin.

An evil house, Ron would shout in true Ron fashion. A house of murderers – Harry sincerely doubted his classmates were capable of that, given his part in Quirrell's… ahh, _misfortune_ at the end of his first year. A house of liars and cheaters and Quidditch-bullies.

The last part, also in true Ron fashion, was probably the most grievous accusation in the red-headed boy's book.

But Harry cared for none of that right now. He did not care that Draco Malfoy belonged to the house or that Snape – _'Professor Snape,' Hermione would snap_ – was its Head of House. He did not care that they lived in a dungeon or that they antagonized him every chance they got. Harry did not even care that they played dirty in Quidditch.

Ron would be so disappointed.

All he cared about was that the object of his affections was a Slytherin.

And he was a Gryffindor.

' _Bugger.'_

Her name was Daphne Greengrass. She was a pureblood, because why not stack the odds against him further? She was also the eldest of two children. She had dark, dark black hair and bright, bright blue eyes and a smirk that drove Harry wild.

It was that smirk that started this entire situation, actually.

If she did not have that smirk then Harry would no doubt still be blissfully attached to Cho Chang and he would never be having this internal battle at a stupid table in the stupid library in the first place!

But she could smirk. With a corner of her mouth. It was odd and attractive all at once and he found it incredibly cute. He was even starting to trace her smirk in class with his wand movements, rather than the appropriate ones for whatever spell he was trying to cast.

But the smirk. The girl. The _ball_. The houses. The library.

' _Bugger.'_

Harry saw that smirk during a confrontation with Malfoy. The blond-haired menace was wearing those 'Potter Stinks' badges and had what seemed the entirety of the Slytherin fourth year population at his back. Goyle. Parkinson. Crabbe. Nott… Harry did not know all of their names.

Daphne's included.

Until she smirked.

It happened after he threw a particularly clever insult Malfoy's way. He could not remember what the insult was, for as soon as he said it, Daphne turned away to hide her smirk.

But he saw it anyway.

He saw it and thought it was odd a Slytherin thought he was funny, especially when the fact that he was a Gryffindor was taken into consideration.

Worse still, the fact that she found Draco Malfoy's misfortune humorous made Harry think Slytherin House was not as united as he once thought.

But the damage was done. The hook, as it were, implanted in his mind.

He thought about that smirk and that girl and that fight often from then on, first because he was fond of the memory in which he made a Slytherin laugh – hidden or not – at Malfoy. Then, because he became curious of the girl who did the laughing. And then, after that, because he fell _hard_ for her.

 _Hard._

' _Bugger.'_

And so, here he was now, in the library, at a table, trying to screw up all of his Gryffindorish courage-

"Harry!"

He yelped and flinched, violently. His knees slammed into the heavy table and his glasses were knocked off of his head. He heard Madam Pince hem and haw from behind her desk but the woman did nothing further.

"Sorry," Hermione exclaimed as loudly as she dared, bending to pick up a blurry pair of glasses on the floor. She then extended them to him with an equally blurry hand. "I didn't mean to startle you – I just didn't expect to find you here."

"Don't worry about it," he murmured, his face still hot as he set his glasses back upon his nose. His bushy haired friend came back into focus, as did the rest of the room.

And all of the students therein, most of whom were now staring at him.

Including Daphne Gr-

' _Don't look at her, moron!'_

He turned back to Hermione fast enough to draw a narrow-eyed stare from her. Slowly, she looked from his face, to the table at which he sat, then back to his face again.

"What's wrong, 'Mione?"

Her eyes narrowed further.

Harry swallowed heavily.

"Where's your bag, Harry?"

"Up in the tower," he responded promptly.

' _Stupid! You were supposed to lie!'_

The girl took her bottom lip between her teeth for a moment and her brow furrowed, then: "Are you researching the second task?"

He shook his head, glad for the return to normality. Research and study were always at the forefront of Hermione's mind. It really was quite remarkable.

"No, I haven't figured out the clue yet, all that egg does is screech. I'm here-"

Oh. Right.

Gryffindor. Slytherin. The _ball_. Daphne Greengrass. The smirk.

"Here…" Hermione prompted.

Harry hesitated.

She would be able to help, right? Would she care? …Of course she would care, Hermione would drop everything to help him, just as he would her. But did he really need help?

An hour had passed since he arrived at the library, after all, and since then he… well, he sat at his table. With no books. And stared.

Harry blinked.

He probably needed help.

"Right," he nodded, sucking in a deep breath. "Right. You're a – _'Don't say girl, dunderhead! Don't say it!_ \- … an intelligent witch, Hermione. And I have a little problem-"

"Harry," the girl sighed, dropping into the seat next to him. "I already _told_ you and Ron, I have a date-"

"I know you have a date," he said, louder than he meant to. Madam Pince glanced their way for a moment but ultimately looked away, her lips curled back into a sneer. He continued then: "I don't- I wasn't going to ask you to go to the… _ball_."

"Don't look so upset about it, Harry," Hermione said, her lips curling up into a smirk.

' _Nothing like Greengrass','_ he noted. Or was it Daphne, to him? Could he call her by her first name? Slytherins and Gryffindors were generally restricted to a last name basis and he was… uncertain of the protocol to shift to a first name basis. He never needed to know before-

"Harry," his bushy-haired friend said, shaking his shoulder and depositing her books on their table. "Focus. What's your problem?"

"Right," he said, blinking as he eyed her books. It was probably good they actually had books on the table, now, he really should have gotten some from the start.

Hermione cleared her throat.

"Right," he repeated. "I need your help."

"We've established that."

"Right."

"Harry, if you say 'right' one more time, I'm leaving. I have schoolwork to finish and four inches of parchment to cover tonight."

"Ri- Okay. I mean, I'm just not sure how to…" He swallowed and set his glasses on the table so he could rub at his eyes. She was close enough now that he could see her fairly well anyway.

' _The basics, Harry, start with the basics.'_

"I need a date to the Yule Ball."

"You do," she agreed, nodding. There was a small smile on her face now.

"I have someone I want to ask."

"That's great, Harry!" Hermione whisper-yelled.

He shook his head. "She's in Slytherin."

The girl's eyes widened. "W-Well, there've been plenty of inter-house couples here so… so it's not so strange."

"I'm in Gryffindor, Hermione."

She blinked. "Yes, Harry. And she's in Slytherin and it's not impossible… it's just…"

"She has a cute smirk," Harry supplied. "And she thought I was funny. So… there's that."

"So she might like you," his bushy-haired friend continued in a rushed whisper, her eyes widening. "Harry, that's wonderful!"

"I've also been sitting here for over an hour, without any books on my table."

Hermione's shoulders fell and her mouth slackened into something resembling a frown.

"Have you been… staring-"

"Probably."

Her frown formed in full. "Well," she started, swallowing. "When you ask her… you should… uhh, not wear your glasses!"

Harry matched her frown. "I can't see without them, Hermione."

"Yes, well, you have lovely eyes. So… can you maybe see enough to not run into things?"

Harry blinked.

He was mostly sure Hermione blinked back but his eyesight, as they only just went over, was not the greatest.

"No glasses," he said. "My eyes are the same with glasses on-"

"They're really not, Har-!"

Madam Pince cleared her throat.

"They're really not, Harry," Hermione said again, whispering once more.

"Fine," he said, crossing his arms. "No glasses."

"No glasses," Hermione agreed, ticking off points on her fingers. "No slimy snakes talk."

"Duh," he muttered.

"No talking about Quidditch."

"What?!"

"No. Quidditch. Harry, _honestly_. Does she play?"

"…No."

"Then no Quidditch talk."

"Fine."

"Good," Hermione, nodding, proceeding to what Harry thought was her sixth finger. "Make sure you look her in the eye, no wandering-"

"I can't see, Hermione."

"Yes, well…" She cleared her throat. " _Anyway_ , have you come up with what you're going to say?"

"Will you go to the ball with me?"

"You've got to stop grimacing when you say 'ball'…"

"I'm grimacing?"

"Quite heavily."

"Will you go to the _ball_ with me?"

" _Honestly._ Now you're only frowning."

"Will you go-"

"Harry, wait," Hermione said exclaimed at her loudest whisper. "What if you said 'Will you be my date'?"

Now he consciously frowned. "How will she know what I'm talking about?"

"Because the Yule Ball is what _everyone_ is talking about."

"…What about escort?"

Hermione's eyes widened, or at least he thought they did.

"That's brilliant, Harry! She'd be one to appreciate eloquence, I would think. You mean you would ask to escort her to the ball?"

He nodded.

The girl nodded. "Maybe you could call it a party? Or just… I don't know, maybe she likes scowls?"

Harry hummed, considering the point as he eyed the blurry shape of his glasses on the table. His lack of sight, at least, kept him from staring at-

"Is she moving?" He said, louder than he intended.

"Who?"

He breathed heavily out of his nose and leaned in close to the girl. "Daphne Greengrass."

" _Her?"_ Hermione breathed back. "Harry- she's..." She paused and he cursed his lack of ability to read her facial expression.

But that thought was promptly pushed from his mind when she continued.

"She's heading to the door, Harry," the bushy-haired girl said quietly, gathering up his glasses. They were promptly placed into a pocket on her robes.

The change in the girl's attitude put him off but the Potter scion would have to deal with that later.

Gryffindor and Slytherin animosity be damned.

Lack of sight be damned.

Nerves and lack of courage be damned.

He was going to ask Daphne Greengrass to the Yule Ball and he was going to do it without scowling or frowning!

* * *

 _Daphne Greengrass – December 13_ _th_ _, 1994 – Hogwarts Library_

"Uh oh," Tracey Davis murmured at her side. "Look out, here comes lover boy."

"Tracey," Daphne hissed, pacing faster to the library door. "Bad enough he stared, blatantly, for an hour. _Please_ don't make this any worse."

The girl remained silent, blessedly, though not before she hummed a little tune to herself, a smile on her lips.

At this point, Daphne would take what she could get.

She did not know when Potter began fancying her. She did not know why or how he even thought it was possible, either. She was Slytherin, he was Gryffindor. Their houses would burn them both alive for even thinking about it.

The boy-who-lived was that special kind of stuck up that tried to play off the favoritism he enjoyed by acting the part of a victim. Professor Dumbledore clearly favored the boy but none of that registered in the face of Professor Snape's point taking.

He focused upon the self-perceived injustices piled atop his shoulders while not stopping to think, for even one second, that he might not be the only one suffering.

Other kids lost their parents in the war. Other kids were ostracized by their peers. Other kids were bullied. Other kids enjoyed the negative attention of teachers.

Hells, even _his own friend_ suffered under that old biddy, Trelawney.

Yet the boy-who-lived was too self-absorbed to care.

Honestly, that was Gryffindor House in a nutshell. Even Quidditch commentary was biased in their favor.

And she did not even want to _think_ about that blasted house cup in first year. Honestly, what was the Headmaster even thinking? To school children as young as eleven, the house cup was _everything_.

No, she did not fancy the boy-who-lived, not in the slightest. In fact, though her instincts warned her away from taking an active role in it, she enjoyed watching from a distance Draco Malfoy attempt to bring the boy's ego back down to the ground, where the rest of the mortals lived, from time to time.

The 'Potter Stinks' badges that Malfoy made were inspired, really. They expressed support for Cedric Diggory – a neutral party – while at the same time vilifying Perfect Potter.

House Slytherin earned more than a little bit of respect with that stunt.

"Incoming," Tracey sang.

Daphne sighed and, upon hearing the approaching footsteps, turned on her heel to face them. She was close to the door, now, but Potter – it seemed – was especially persistent.

"What do you want P-"

Since when did he have green eyes? And why in the blasted hells did he hide them behind those foul, muggle-taped glasses?

And why, for that matter, had she never gotten close enough to see them before today?

Tracey's elbow in her side brought her back to the conversation at hand, a conversation that, Daphne realized, she missed the beginnings of.

Potter was looking at her, silent, neutral, expectant.

Clearly she missed what he said… Father would be so disappointed.

"Pardon?" She asked, tilting her chin up to look at him properly. Anything less than full focus would be considered improper and not the least bit rude; though she had no reason to give that sort of respect to Potter – and had half a mind to show him none – her upbringing would not be denied.

And so it was that Daphne realized his hair was… well, it was actually quite attractive. Not from a distance, mind, but up close… she could certainly see why some of the girls in her year wanted Potter to ask them to the Yule Ball, champion status notwithstanding.

It looked as though he had just dragged his hand through it, arranged in a windswept sort of way that looked natural. Maybe it was? From a distance it only looked like an unkempt-

Tracey's elbow again.

This time, Daphne colored, a minute gasp escaping her throat.

"Uh," she stuttered. "P-Pardon? Sorry, my- I didn't get much sleep last night and- and yeah."

Potter huffed, frowning as he dragged a hand through his hair. It became even _more_ of an organized mess which was really remarkable and _she_ wanted to try it-

' _Focus! Focus so you can turn him down and get back to your assignments, you daft girl!'_

Really, this was incredibly unfair. Why, in Morgana's name, was Potter _attractive_?!

"I said," the boy muttered, a scowl on his face. His voice was deeper than she remembered. "Would you please do me the honor of escorting you to the Yule Ball?"

He maintained eye contact, never even glancing at Tracey as though he could not even see her, and Daphne found her cheeks heating under the attention. She blinked once, twice, three times but found she could not look away from his eyes.

Who was this boy and why did he look nothing like that idiot, Potter?!

Tracey elbowed her again and this time she actually flinched. Potter was apparently annoyed enough with her absentmindedness that he stayed silent instead of babbling excuses like she saw other nervous boys do.

But she wished he would babble. She wished he would appear awkward or unconfident or… _something_. He had all the power in this conversation and she had none and he might not even be aware of it but _how in the hells_ were her mannerisms and etiquette lessons abandoning her one by blasted-one in the face of this boy!?

Potter crossed his arms and her eyes – her damnable eyes – were drawn to the way the fabric of his school shirt strained against his muscles.

Where were his robes? Where were his robes and _why_ did he have muscled arms?

Her cheeks grew warmer.

"Look, if you don't want to-"

"I'll go with you," she blurted out in a rush, with the exhale of a breath that simultaneously served to release the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.

Tracey froze at her side and Potter blinked.

Then, he smiled a small smile at her. Not over large or toothy or awkward. Like he practiced it in the damned mirror or something!

Her cheeks grew ever warmer.

"I'm glad," he said, his voice no longer as… rough as it was before. He sounded happier now, his tone infused with deeper bass notes of genuine joy.

Much to her surprise, she found herself smiling back at him.

He was _glad_ to go to the Yule Ball with her.

Her presence inciting appreciation in anyone other than Tracey was a… rare occurrence for her. It was not so much that House Slytherin was full of cold, emotionless bastards – they were children too, of course – but the overwhelming majority of pureblooded wizards and witches at Hogwarts were placed into the green house. Wizards and witches that underwent lessons from a young age to control their emotions and act logically, always in the favor of themselves or their house or their families.

She greeted her fellow housemates with a neutral façade and they, in turn, welcomed her in the same way. She showed emotion only when behind the walls of her common room and only to her most precious friends.

And, apparently, Harry bloody Potter too.

Still, such an overt display of appreciation was… nice to receive.

"Yes," she murmured, trusting her voice to be no louder without shaking. Her nerves were still very much rattled and, for all his smile had done to put her at ease, she was still picturing her father shaking his head at her dunderheadedness. "I'll send you a… swatch. With my dress- _Of_ my dress. Colored-"

She swallowed and breathed in once, deeply, then out again. Tracey's quivering at her side – her friend's poor attempt to hide her laughter - and Potter's raised eye brow and half smile were ignored.

Mostly.

She found she liked his smile.

And his eyes.

"I'll send you a swatch of my dress, so that we can coordinate our colors," she said at long last, her voice finally, _finally_ even.

"Right," Potter said slowly, eyeing her with a blank look to her features.

She swallowed her grin and, eager to get him back and gain the upper hand, struck.

"You are aware, of course, that the gentleman waits to purchase his dress robes until after his lady has-"

"Right," he said quickly, holding up his hands. "I don't even have my dress robes yet so-"

"You haven't even gotten a pair yet?" Daphne demanded, her hands on her hips. "You'd best get on that, Potter. Anything less than custom fitted robes will pale in comparison to my own and I will _not_ go to the Yule Ball with you looking like a Weasley dressed you!"

Potter's nostrils flared and, only belatedly, Daphne remembered he was friends with one of the Weasleys.

But she did not care. Their horrible fashion sense was legendary among the pureblooded families of Britain.

Whether it be due to a lack of gold or just horrible taste, she did not know.

"You'll eat those words, Greengrass," Potter informed her matter-of-factly, nodding once to punctuate his statement. "Don't drag _me_ down."

Her eyes widened before she could stop them and her mouth flapped uselessly for a moment. But Daphne was not inexperienced in arguing someone down.

Not with bloody little 'Tori around the house.

Besides, she had back-up.

"As if Potter," she scoffed, turning away from his bright green eyes to glance at Tracey. "Maybe Dumbledore will help him with this too?"

Tracey played her part wonderfully, giggling behind her hands before exclaiming: "Potter'll show up in rainbow robes and mismatched socks!"

Daphne turned back to the Gryffindor in question to find the boy's face reddening. She felt no small amount of vindication rise up in her and, before the boy could get a word in, turned on her heel.

"Don't disappoint me, Potter."

That said, she marched herself right out of the library, Tracey at her side. They passed through the double doors un-harassed and, once they were out in the hallway, both broke out into muffled laughter.

"Did you see his face?" Tracey asked, elbowing her side.

"Like Weasley gets when he sees food," Daphne agreed, jutting out her bottom row of teeth. "Ugh! Me Potter!"

The brunette at her side laughed a deep belly laugh, grasping at the Greengrass heiress' shoulder to stay upright. "I can't believe you just did that! In public!" She wheezed. "That was- That was-!"

The girl gave up the fight with words and instead pulled Daphne into a nearby classroom, stumbling over to one of the desk and planting herself in it before she grabbed her midriff and burst into a renewed fight of laughter.

So loud and wild was the cackling that Daphne found it contagious and, soon, she was grabbing at her own stomach on the floor of the classroom, mirthful tears running down her face as her jaw grew sore with the effort of laughing as hard as she was.

"Weasley dressed you!" Tracey spat, her own face runny with tears. "P-Perfect!

They carried on in that manner for several minutes longer, reliving parts of the conversation until they calmed enough to breathe normally and give their jaws and midsections a break in their laughing fits.

It was about that time that reality set back in.

"Potter asked me out," Daphne murmured quietly, sitting up to face Tracey from her spot on the floor.

"Yeah," the brunette snorted. "Three times. You were off in la-la-land for the first two."

"Potter asked me out," she murmured again. "He's in Gryffindor. A lion. A stupid, stupid glory seeker and enemy of Slytherin! Tracey! He asked me out and I said yes! What am I going to do? They already know. They have to know already-"

"Daphne," the girl on the chair barked. "Let's just… Let's just worry about this when it becomes an issue."

"How is that a plan?" Daphne demanded, running a hand through her hair. "People are going to- _Draco Malfoy_ is going to ask questions and- ohhh this is bad. I'll be ostracized. I'll be kicked out of the house and Professor Snape will treat me like Potter and-"

"Daphne! Daphne!" Tracey called, getting on the floor with the black haired girl. She put her hands on the girl's shoulders. "Hey! This is House Slytherin, remember? We stick together because everybody else is out to get us! If you think one crummy date with Potter is going to change that, then you've got another thing coming!"

"Right," the girl said, nodding. It was a valid point. It _had_ to be a valid point because she could think of no others. "I could just say I accepted to sabotage him! Or… Or to, to keep him from dating Granger…"

Tracey grimaced. "The first one. Draco'll be happy to hear that and when he's happy, so are his parents."

"And then so are mine," Daphne agreed.

Draco Malfoy's constant threats to tell his father may fall on deaf ears when he used them against Gryffindors but within the House Slytherin, it was another story entirely. Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy wielded much influence in the political and economic world outside of Hogwarts' walls and they both cared greatly for their only son. When he was happy, they were happy. When he was angry, they were angry. And when he was angry at _someone_ , so too were Lucius and Narcissa unhappy with that someone's parents.

It did not happen often within Slytherin, but Daphne remembered a time when Draco was vying to claim control of the house from older students. Those students who defied him, some five or six years his senior, very quickly became cowed by the influence his parents could wield upon their own. Now, in his fourth year, Draco had much of the house under his thumb, especially given Professor Snape was his godfather.

Everybody knew it, nobody was entirely happy with it.

Daphne, however, did not care. If not Draco, then another student with powerful parents would take over the house. Draco used his power for little things, like claiming couches near the fireplace, but another student might wield that power in a more severe manner.

No, Daphne was just fine with Draco holding the cards in House Slytherin. He was a known quantity, after all, and she was reasonably certain she could trust him to come to her defense against enemies of the house.

Until now, that was.

Agreeing to go with the boy-who-lived to the Yule Ball… what was she thinking?

Well, she knew what she was thinking. She was thinking of his beautiful emerald eyes, windswept hair, his coiled muscles and how they might feel around her waist on-

She flushed.

Tracey grinned.

"Thinking about lover boy already?"

"Sod off."

* * *

 _Harry Potter - Fifteen minutes earlier – Hogwarts Library_

He ran into another table as Daphne reached the double doors, cursing Hermione and his poor eyesight all at once. His palms were clammy and he thought he felt sweat gathering on his forehead.

Habitually, he swept his hand through his hair, in part to calm his nerves and in part to remove the moisture from his skin.

He was close to them now – Daphne and the other girl. Or at least he thought it was Daphne and the other girl. If it was someone else and her friend then he was going to have _words_ with Hermione over the no-glasses thing. Asking the wrong person out by the wrong name would be even worse than Ron asking Fleur-

"What do you want, P-"

He stopped, surprised, and blinked. In front of him was a black haired girl and a brown haired girl, though he was too far away to see the color of their eyes. He _did_ , however, see the green of their ties.

Their identities confirmed, he moved onto the next stop: his proposal. Daphne stopped talking all of the sudden and he could not read her facial expression through his blurred sight. Still, he focused on her eyes, just as Hermione instructed.

He only wished he could see them.

"W-Would you like to- Do me the honor of escorting me- I mean escorting you to the Yule Ball?"

The brunette snorted, Harry heard that clearly, and he swallowed heavily. His hands plunged into the pockets of his pants and he felt his cheeks heat up as Daphne remained silent.

Honestly, he knew he bungled up the question pretty badly but could she at least answer him?

"Pardon?" The girl asked and Harry was glad he was already staring at her face, otherwise he was quite certain he would have flinched in his hurry to return his attention to her.

But still, she wanted him to repeat himself? It was poorly spoken but he _knew_ he got the message across… Why didn't she just answer? He could feel the stares on the back of his neck and he heard the hush that came over his fellow students when he asked the first time.

Annoyance poked at the edges of his consciousness before he beat it back.

Best to give her the benefit of the doubt – perhaps she just did not hear him? He was probably mumbling the first time anyway.

Harry cleared his throat. "Daphne Greengrass, would you do me the honor of escorting you to the Yule Ball?"

There. That was perfect! Said loudly enough to hear and worded much, much better than the first attempt.

Her friend didn't even snort this time. That meant it sounded good, right?

But she did make a move toward Daphne… Did she just elbow her?

"Uh," Daphne said, returning his attention to her.

She continued once she must've realized she had his attention again: "P-Pardon? Sorry, my- I didn't get much sleep last night and- and yeah."

Harry only just kept himself from snorting, annoyance now clearly intruding upon his thoughts. He released a short, sharp breath and ran a hand through his hair.

This girl was some kind of cruel, forcing him to ask not twice, but _three_ times in front of a crowded library filled to the brim with students from all around the world?

If this was some sort of attempt to get material for another smear article about him…

A scowl pulled his lips downward at the thought.

"I said," he growled. "Would you please do me the honor of escorting you to the Yule Ball?"

Last chance. He'd not repeat himself even once more for her; already his opinion of her was plummeting. Maybe he was right earlier, about how it was a stupid idea to ask a Slytherin to the Yule Ball, despite the smirk she had. Maybe Ron was correct when he ranted and raved about evil snakes in the dungeons. If this girl had the gall to make him ask her out _three_ times and then laugh in his face about it…

Even now, she remained silent. He was half blind – and repeatedly cursing Hermione for it in his head – so if she was laughing at him he would never know it.

A thought hit him then, one that chased away any embarrassment and replaced it with anger.

' _What if she's smirking_ _ **at**_ _me, now.'_

Harry didn't like that thought at all. Her smirk was only cute when she was laughing at something he said, not laughing _at_ him.

"Look," he grunted, shoving his hands back in his pockets. "If you don't want to-"

"I'll go with you!"

He blinked, going over the words she said because she said them _fast._ They all came out in a rush like air escaping a balloon and-

' _She said yes?'_

The annoyance retreated from his mind rather quickly at that. His anger left him and instead a mixture of happiness, gratefulness and relief settled over his mind.

He smiled.

She was not being impolite earlier, then, when she asked him to repeat himself. Maybe she was just hard of hearing? Or maybe she really was just tired? Sleeping in a dungeon had to be pretty uncomfortable…

Regardless. She agreed! Hermione was right, it really was no big deal. This whole Slytherin and Gryffindor thing was all rot!

"I'm glad," Harry said genuinely, feeling for the first time in many months a bout of sincere happiness. Ron's accusation of him lying about entering the tournament and subsequent apology for being an idiot alongside said tournament itself left him feeling drained and unhappy most days.

But here he was, finding happiness in a Slytherin girl.

Just wait till Sirius heard.

"Yes," Daphne whispered, almost to herself.

It served to return his attention to her, all the same. They had goodbyes to say-

"I'll send you a… swatch. With my dress- _Of_ my dress. Colored-"

Unbidden, one of his eyebrows arched up in confusion. He and Hermione never discussed a dress.

Well, insofar as color of one, anyway. He _knew_ Daphne was going to wear a dress but he was not sure why the color of it mattered. She would doubtlessly look beautiful in anything she wore – there was no way she couldn't. Not with her pitch black hair, a large blue eyes and the dimpled, half smirk she wore.

His smile returned to him.

"I'll send you a swatch of my dress, so that we can coordinate our colors," Daphne said, her voice much more even this time.

Understanding hit him hard.

"Right," he vocalized. They would want to match colors – that made sense. Otherwise they might look absolutely awful together, because they were going together.

His expression slackened.

He and Daphne were going to the Yule Ball. _Together_. As in, a _couple._

Immediately, his mind started drawing up ways he could muck this up. What if he got the color shade wrong – Aunt Petunia was _notoriously_ picky when it came to color shades. What if Daphne was like that too? What if he got food on her dress? Girls didn't like that, did they? What if he tripped over his robes and pulled them off of himself?

What if he – oh, Merlin – what if he tripped over _her_ robes and pulled them off of _her_!?

"You are aware, of course," Daphne said, providing him with a timely distraction from his thoughts. "That the gentleman waits to purchase his dress robes until after his lady has-"

"Right," he said quickly, holding up his hands. He had those green dress robes in his trunk but what if they did not match hers'? "I don't even have my dress robes yet so-"

"You haven't even gotten a pair yet?" The Slytherin said loudly. Even through his shoddy eyesight, he could see her place her hands on her hips as she continued: "You'd best get on that, Potter. Anything less than custom fitted robes will pale in comparison to my own and I will _not_ go to the Yule Ball with you looking like a Weasley dressed you!"

His eyes narrowed and he exhaled sharply.

' _Oh. It's on.'_

"You'll eat those words, Greengrass." Well that decided the first name basis question. "Don't drag _me_ down."

Who was he kidding? He knew nothing about wizarding fashion and the _ball_ was in less than two weeks! Hermione could help though. She was a g- an incredibly intelligent witch that probably had an eye for matching colors and such because she was a-

"As if Potter," the object of his affection scoffed. He saw the vague shape of her head turn toward the brunette at her side – a girl he did not know at all.

' _Should probably fix that. Sometime.'_

"Maybe Dumbledore will help him with this too?"

The brunette giggled. It was a high pitched thing – reminded him of the way Cho laughed. He decided he hated the sound, now.

"Potter'll show up in rainbow robes and mismatched socks!"

He felt his face get hot, not because he was embarrassed but because he was angry. The fact that Dumbledore helped him so often was something of a sore point for him, too. Harry liked that he was close to the Headmaster but he did not enjoy, in the slightest, the idea that there was favoritism involved in their relationship.

Evidentially, the other Hogwarts' students thought the same thing.

The idea that he could not do something on his own infuriated him. He learned the Patronus in third year! He killed a basilisk and escaped giant spiders! He helped beat a troll! The things he did were things none of the other students could even dream of doing!

And this ball was only going to be his next conquest, he was sure of it.

"Don't disappoint me, Potter."

He made to respond but the girl was already walking away, her friend in tow. Her smirk flashed through his mind again and it further strengthened his resolve. The idea she might be using it at _him_ was completely unacceptable.

Right.

"Don't you worry, Greengrass," he murmured. "I'll be the best damn date at the ball and I'll do it all without-"

"Quiet down!" Madam Pince called somewhere behind him.

He flinched, his ego injured but not put down entirely.

"All without Dumbledore's help!" He finished, whispering under his breath. "Or Hermione's! Or R- Or Hermione's!"

* * *

 **A/N:** A little one-shot to aid me in getting back into the writing groove. I've always liked fics that paired up people across house lines, particularly ones that had Harry dating someone from Slytherin house. Figured I'd give it a try myself!

Let me know what you think. The good, the bad, the ugly, all of it. If my muse gets the urge, there may even be another chapter or two here. Certainly not a full fic, but maybe a couple drabbles.

 **Updated: 03/20/2019.**

Random thought: what if our dates are arranged in MM/DD/YYYY format because whoever chose that order wanted the smallest numbers on the left?


	2. The Prep

_Harry Potter – December 16_ _th_ _, 1994 – Gryffindor Tower_

"Well, that settles it then. I'm coming with you."

She was standing in front of him, arms crossed and an eyebrow arched high into her forehead, as if _daring_ him to disagree.

' _If she thinks she can boss me around, she's got another thing coming,'_ he thought, still sour over Daphne Greengrass' parting words from a few days past.

' _I don't need Dumbledore's help. I don't need anyone's help and I certainly won't drag her down!'_

"I said no, Hermione. I can do this alone."

The bushy-haired girl scowled. Ron, for his part, snorted and returned to his chess game with Neville. They were in the common room of Gryffindor tower, off to one side of it. Sunlight filtered in through large, ornate windows and made the red-and-gold standards hung from the walls that much more regal. In the hearth, a large fire roared, helping to keep the room warmed in the wintery weather.

"No, Harry, you can't," she retorted, matter-of-factly. "If not for me, you'd still be sitting in the library, scowling at nothing!"

"She's got a point, mate," Ron inserted, not even bothering to look up from his game.

"Do you have a date yet?" Harry snapped, whirling back around to face Hermione before the Weasley boy could respond.

"It's just some dress robes, Hermione, I don't need help picking them out!"

"Yes you _do_ , Harry! Daphne Greengrass is from a noble family! They have traditions that you need to abide by!"

Traditions?

That was news to him...

"Still can't believe you're going to the ball with a _Slytherin_ ," Ron muttered, taking Neville's rook and smiling idly as his knight chopped the thing in half. "They're all… slimy and evil and… cheaters."

"Not Daphne," Harry retorted, grasping at the distraction like a starving man would food. He was rapidly losing ground in his argument and he knew it.

He and Daphne were also back to a first name basis. Not because they agreed upon it but because he found it odd to refer to her by her last name.

Yeah.

Admittedly, she was unaware they were referring to each other by their first names.

"You'll also need to practice the steps for the dances!"

Dances?!

"What?" He blurted. "With an 's'?!"

" _Honestly,_ Harry. It's a ball!"

"I know that, I- But _dancing?_ "

"As one of the champions, you have to lead the opening da-"

"Bugger." His face was pale, he was sure of it.

"Dance steps, dress robes," Hermione counted, ticking off her fingers one by one as she did. Each one felt like another nail in his proverbial coffin. "You _do_ have the color swatch, right?"

He nodded mutely, his hand reflexively diving into his pocket just to make sure the piece of fabric was still there.

It was, much to his relief. Colin Creevey ran up to him two days ago, stuffed it into his hands then ran off before he could get a word in edgewise. The boy hadn't even asked for a photo or anything. The color swatch had not left his pocket since then.

"Good," his bushy haired friend-turned-savior said. "We'll have to get you some contact lenses too, at least for the night of the ball."

Harry nodded again, feeling all too much like a bobble head. He knew – now – that his eyes were attractive, as odd as that thought was to think. He also knew that his glasses… _hid_ them, somehow. As though his lenses were not clear.

Whatever.

"Dress robes, dance steps, contacts," he muttered, blinking. It was Friday, so he could sneak out of the castle tomorrow, go to Gringotts, get some of his money and then-

' _Oh bugger it all.'_

"Hermione, will you help me tomorrow?"

She opened her mouth, her brow furrowed, then snapped it shut with a click. She swallowed, smiled, then opened her mouth again: "I'd love to help you, Harry!"

* * *

 _Daphne Greengrass - December 17_ _th_ _, 1994 – Slytherin Dungeons_

"I still can't believe he bought that."

Daphne rolled her eyes. "You've mentioned that three times now, Tracey."

"I _honestly_ did not think Draco would really believe you agreed to go with Potter to… what? Sabotage him somehow? What does he think? You embarrass him at the ball and he suddenly loses all of his skills?"

She shrugged. "He _is_ rather good with a wand."

"We'd all be good with a wand if we were Dumbledore's pet student."

A snort escaped her but she did not argue the point. "With a broom at least, then."

"Defending him now, are we?" Tracey said, turning from where she sat on her bed to look at her properly. They were currently the only two in the dormitory. "I bet you'd like to see his skills with a broom. Ride it good and-"

"You can _stop_ whenever you want!" She spat, her eyes wide and her cheeks flushed. The girl had _no_ decency at all!

Tracy laughed and promptly began making kissing sounds. Complete with exaggerated lip puckers.

"Tart," Daphne retorted, for she could think of nothing else to say. Now that they were on the topic, her mind was fixated entirely on Potter's newly discovered muscles and how riding that broom of his in front of him, with his arms around her-

She slapped a hand over her eyes.

Tracy gasped. "You _are_ thinking about-"

"If you love me you won't finish that sentence! I have a reputation to maintain as the heiress of House Greengrass! I can't just… just fall to bits whenever he's around because his stupid eyes are gorgeous or… or…"

She released an explosive sigh-turned-growl and fell back onto her bed with a huff. It was part infuriating, part pleasing that her mind always returned to thoughts of Harry Potter over the last few days. In class, during meals, out on the grounds; it did not matter where she was, he would inevitably come up in conversation – because Draco _did_ love to make fun of him - and hunker down in her head for an extended stay.

And to think, only four days ago she thought of him as a whiny, stuck up, spoilt child. Good with a broomstick and quick with his wand, but completely detached from reality in a way that made it impossible to converse with him. Self-centered to the extreme and always focused upon his problems and his problems only.

Which he was.

All of that.

But now…

Well, now he was a _hot_ self-centered teacher's pet with an ego the size of the giant squid.

And for some reason, she was okay with that.

The bed shifted as Tracey placed herself at Daphne's feet, crossing her legs under her.

"You've got it _bad_ , don't you? Like, _Pansy_ bad."

She shook her head. "Not _that_ bad but… it's safe to say I find the bloody boy who lived attractive."

"Huh," Tracey grunted, pulling her hair back away from her face. It was tossed about when she sat down. "Well, he _is_ kind of a hunk in the right light. Get some meat on his bones and I bet you he'll fill out nicely."

"But keep the hair."

"But keep the hair," the girl agreed. "And the smile. And the eyes. He _does_ have nice ones. From his mother, I hear."

Daphne grunted something illegible. "He does… Did you see him run into those tables when-"

" _Yes!_ He hit like, _three_ on the way over!" She broke into peals of laughter. "Add contacts to the list for your future dreamboat."

She snorted. "You're acting like we'll be together forever."

Even as she said the words she felt herself entertain the idea. Pureblood children grew up faster than other children might and she was no exception. It was not because their families were more prone to breaking apart, rather, it was because pureblooded children were expected to meet and play nice with people who _did_ go through that.

Daphne herself remembered meeting Blaise's mother when she was six and marveling over the fact that the woman was on her… what? Fourth husband?

Suffice it to say, any sort of romantic idea of finding _the one_ and settling down forever was inadvertently beaten out of her by the time she was ten.

 _Mostly_.

"I mean…" She started slowly. "It wouldn't be a _bad_ thing, right?"

"You'd be famous," Tracey inserted, nodding. "That must be nice. People would know you wherever you went!"

"Not because I'd be married to the boy who lived though. I want to be famous in my own right."

"Then use his name to do something," she shrugged, pushing herself off the bed with grunt. Then, she turned toward Daphne and held up her hands, one at waist level and one in front of her, around shoulder level. "Well, shall we continue?"

The eldest Greengrass child nodded and pushed herself up as well, placing an arm around Tracey's shoulder.

"You are so lucky I'm doing this for you," the brunette muttered as they started going through the steps. "If I start leading my date and he throws a fit, you'll be hearing from me."

* * *

 _Harry Potter - December 17_ _th_ _, 1994 – Twilfitt and Tatting's_ _,_ _Diagon Alley_

"I think this… No, no, _this_ one is a match."

"That looks a mite dark, mate."

"It really does, Harry," Hermione inserted, standing half behind a rack of ties-that-weren't-really-ties. More like poofy shirt collars with a tail. But… wizarding fashion, so…

Apparently one of those poofy-shirt-ties meant something to pureblooded wizards and witches.

Like Daphne.

Err, Greengrass.

…Whatever.

Defeated, Harry dropped the test swatch of cloth back down on the table that he and Ron stood at. In front of them lay at least thirty different kinds of blues and each little fabric square would proclaim the name of its color in a soft, little voice if they were touched.

"Maybe go back to the darker navy blue one," Ron suggested through a mouthful of Florean's ice cream – the real reason he tagged along today. Still, the red headed boy's presence was a welcome distraction, prone as he was to accidentally dish out back-handed insults toward Slytherin House as he tried to help.

" _Wear some dragon hide under your dress robes, mate. She'd appreciate you taking precautions, since, you know, she's a Slytherin and all. They like that backstabbing kind of edgy-murder-mystery stuff."_

" _Get the green inseam- inline? Lining? Lining, whatever 'Mione. Get the green stuff. That's almost as nasty looking as their colors."_

" _Hey, if she tries anything, shoulder check her. That's what Slytherin's house team does, so she'll know you watch their quidditch squad… even though they cheat. I mean, it's the thought that counts right?"_

Bonus points because Hermione's scowl grew every time the boy attempted to help him out.

"Okay!" Hermione proclaimed, striding over with two of the poofy-collar-ties in her hands. She held up one that looked like a Christmas bow with a single tail. " _This_ one is less formal than the other one. It's generally worn by boys and- Don't give me that look, Harry, honestly. It's worn by boys _and_ young men when they need to dress up for a formal affair."

She then thrust the other one in his face. This one had two, thinner tails, less of a Christmas bow and more of a collar. As in, two strips of cloth that looked like they would go around his neck. Like a really poofy, really obnoxious bow-tie.

"This one is… different. It's worn by adults and since you're competing in the Triwizard Tournament… I think you can get away with wearing it without rubbing anyone the wrong way."

Harry shared a glance with Ron, thankful that the redhead looked just as befuddled as him.

"You're not sure?" He vocalized.

"Well," the girl paused, chewing on her bottom lip. "It can also mean you want to duel the first person you speak- Harry! Wait! Just- It's _only_ if you wear your house seal on it."

"Like Gryffindor?"

"No, like Potter."

He blinked. "I have a seal?"

Ron shrugged and Hermione arched her eyebrows at him.

"You should. Honestly, Harry, haven't you seen anything in your vaults with an official looking sigil on it?"

He shook his head. "The only thing I can access in my trust vault is gold, Hermione. No artifacts or jewelry or rings or ground-shattering family heirlooms."

She frowned. "Well, I suppose it doesn't matter. You won't need your seal… unless you want to duel someone?"

"I'd rather not."

"Okay, that settles it then," she said, releasing a small sigh. "So which one?"

"The second one, it looks less like a Christmas bow."

"It _does_ look less ridiculous," the girl allowed, smiling.

Ron nodded along and, after swallowing his latest scoop of ice cream, said: "Yeah, my dad has one like that. The strips go under your collar, says it's _real_ uncomfortable."

Harry was struck suddenly by Greengrass' voice in his head, wondering if he'd show up looking like a Weasley dressed him. The idea that Ron's father owned anything like the tie he was going to wear was… not pleasant.

Ron was a true friend, through and through, and after the boy got over his jealousy at Harry being forced to compete in the tournament, he proved it. That the redhead was willing to at least try to overlook his prejudice against House Slytherin for Harry's sake was touching.

But that did not excuse the fact that the boy's dress robes were utterly hideous.

"Ahh, I'd rather not wear anything like that under my collar," he said slowly, toying with Daphne's strip of cloth in his pocket. Blue, kind of like her eyes. She would look great in the color, no doubt. Idly, he wondered just how _tight_ dress robes were on girls.

That was a nice thought… tighter than the Hogwarts' uniform, surely? All the sweaters and shirts and ties and what-not made it incredibly-

"-rry? Harry!" Hermione barked.

He blinked, only belatedly realizing that the clothing store attendant was in front of him.

And arching her eyebrows at him like he was supposed to answer a question.

' _Bugger.'_

"Uhh," he muttered, scratching at his neck and feeling his face heat up. That Ron snickered at his side did not help matters. "Come again?"

The blonde girl leaned over – which served to distract him all over again – and prodded the table with the color swatches on it.

"I said that you'll want this one," she said, picking up one of the less-navy-blue ones that he and Ron decided was off.

"Nah, that one's too bright," Ron grunted.

But the woman only gave him a smile and tilted the swatch of color up slightly, changing the kind of not-navy-blue it was entirely. It now matched-

It now matched his perfectly!

"Ohhhh," he and Ron chorused.

"Silk from Egypt," the woman said further, turning back to him. "Expensive stuff, hard to find too. I wonder what your date expected you to find?"

"That conniving Slytherin snake," the red-headed Weasley whispered, shoving another spoon full of ice cream into his mouth and gnawing on the treat like it insulted the Chudley Cannons.

Harry, for his part, could only shrug.

The attendant was leaning toward him again and it was hard getting his mouth to work right.

Thankfully, she straightened up at that point – which allowed him to see Hermione's unimpressed stare – and flounced away between the racks of clothing, presumably to help another customer.

More likely she was off to go distract another panicked guy buying dress robes for a stupid ball.

He did not voice the thought aloud.

* * *

 **A/N:** Alright, so we're doing this! I waffled over posting this for a long while but, hell, why not? I can't make any promises about the third chapter but I'll be moving this to the 'In Progress' status all the same. This a story I work on as inspiration strikes me, sort of a break from other stories and life in general. That's why updates will be, in a word, inconsistent.

This thing is a humorous piece that I find uplifting to work on, though. I like working on it but at the same time, I don't want to put anything in it that didn't make me grin when I thought of it… Does that even make any sense?

Ah well, it's late at night and I'm half asleep already.

Enjoy! Review! Sleep!

Till next time,

Phailen


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